


all his cards you want to touch

by tanyart



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Heist, M/M, Self-cest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 01:29:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9525656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: The heist was over before it even began.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [leonshardt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonshardt/pseuds/leonshardt) in the [selfcestfest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/selfcestfest) collection. 



> **Prompt:** Mystery Man is a vigilante and an enigma. Riverboat is a gambler, a con, and a terrible flirt.
> 
> Title from the song, [A Night Like This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KXoPE6LaFgY) by Caro Emerald, which is a great fun song, by the way.
> 
> * * *

The first time the name _Jesse McCree_ comes in between them, it had been a point of contention. Riverboat’s eyebrows go up and he directs his look of confusion at the clerk.  He leans one arm against the desk and smiles, well practiced despite the hitch in his plans.

“Run that by me again, miss?”

Whether or not the clerk finds him charming is up in the air, but she gives him an apologetic look.  “I’m sorry.  It says that you’ve already checked in.  There must have been some kind of mix-up, Mr. McCree.”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, she glances at his card—a polished little thing with all his identification and credits. Completely falsified, of course.  It would pass through the scanners, but there isn’t a point to run it a second time if there is already another Jesse McCree floating around the grand hotel-casino.

Riverboat’s expression doesn’t so much as flicker, but he is plenty annoyed by the setback.   _That_ , he allows to show on his face, though with significantly less anger than what he actually feels.   

“I see,” he says, in a slow and measured tone that suggested financial retribution, or at the very least, a very bad online review.  

“I apologize for the inconvenience.  We can book you in another suite,” the clerk offers, unruffled in the usual way most service workers are.

“Will you?  That’ll be swell,” Riverboat says, tipping his hat.  “But I was very specific about my accommodations.  I had booked the Blue Suite months beforehand, you see.”  Mostly to guarantee the fastest getaway route and access to a number of useful ventilation shafts.  The other Jesse McCree, whoever the person is, had upturned his plans neatly enough.

“We’ll apply a discount for the trouble,” the clerk says, typing away on her tablet.

Riverboat flashes her a grin. “Thanks.”

 

* * *

  


The second time it happens, Riverboat is prepared.  He quickly finds out the mysterious _Jesse McCree_ double has their hands in every five-star restaurant booking, all the VIP lounges, and all the trendiest social events.  Riverboat whistles, sitting in the middle of his Red Suite in his underwear—which isn’t all that bad as he had feared to be.  There’s a beautiful view of the skyline from the private balcony.  If anything, he can always jump off it if things went wrong.  

He takes a swing from the complimentary whiskey bottle.  Things _have_ gone wrong, right from the start.  The heist gets scrapped and sent to Riverboat’s metaphorical trash bin.  He makes the appropriate calls to his associates with light words and a heavier heart.  They’ve been compromised, and Riverboat hasn’t gotten this far by playing stupid.

He takes another drink from the bottle.  Months of work and prep are gone, but lucky for him, he’s always been one vengeful motherfucker.   

He shuts his laptop and stands.  Time to get dressed.

  


* * *

  


Getting into the gala had been a matter of arriving early, securing his reservation as the _first_ Jesse McCree to arrive, and then mingling in with the well-to-dos and upper echelons of society’s best.  

 _I should have been robbing you all blind tonight_ , Riverboat thinks sadly. He takes a flute of champagne, nose wrinkling as the bubbles hit his nose, but it’s what he deserves.  He’ll just have to do the robbing the old fashion way.

The man sitting in front of him scowls, throwing down his cards. In return, Riverboat throws him his best smile.

“You must be cheating,” the man says, turning red with anger.  It’s very unbecoming, especially from someone who initially had looked so dignified in his three-piece suit.  

Riverboat sets his own down, watching as the omnic dealer whisks the winning chips his way.  The man’s accusation is not untrue, but his indignant tone smacks of a stray shot in the dark that may have found its mark on accident.  

Riverboat’s prosthetic hand clicks, the extra aces up his sleeve remain hidden.  

“Lady Luck must be with me tonight,” he says, grinning.  He eyes the man, making no effort to hide the way his gaze lingers. “Though, I wouldn’t mind a handsome fella like yourself either.”

The man stands up.  “Enjoy your night with Lady Luck, Mr. McCree.”

Well, it had been worth a shot.  Riverboat tips his hat.  “Will do.”

He waits for the man to disappear before turning to the omnic dealer.

“A sore loser,” the dealer comments, trashing the deck beneath the table before pulling out a fresh one.

“Oh, that’s polite as pie, considering,” Riverboat says, snickering.  “You should see _me_ when I lose.”

Fortunately, the omnic dealer doesn’t get the chance.  Riverboat leaves the table in favor for something more exciting.  Cheating at cards gets old fast, as does lifting pockets and coaxing people to show their purses and wallets for him.  Already he’s got a growing list of high-rollers to pursue for a later con.  It’s not as profitable as an honest-to-god heist, but it’ll do for now.  

There is also the case of Riverboat’s mystery man.  The other Jesse McCree is at the gala, he’s sure.  He’s always been fond of the alias, never had much trouble establishing the name in whatever situation he needs.  Some of his best heists had been under that name—which had probably been his giveaway to anyone who has ever cared to look how one Jesse McCree might even exist in the first place.

Riverboat pauses mid-sip.  He sets his champagne down as the rising commotion starts to reach his ears.  He peers over the balcony to the growing crowd forming below him.  He sees a crush of suits and dresses and uniforms, the flash of an angry face being pushed down to the floor.

“ _Jesse McCree?  You have the right to remain silent_ —”

Riverboat picks up his champagne glass again and resumes his sip.  

“— _arrested for the robberies of Volskaya Industries, Lijiang Tower Associates, Shimada Family_ —”

Riverboat drains his glass.  He flicks the ace of spades over the balcony in farewell.

Damn shame he’ll have to retire the name now.

 

* * *

  


The Blue Suite, ironically enough, looks exactly like the Red Suite, private balcony and all.  Riverboat opens the bedroom door, snorting when he sees the bed perfectly made and not a single personal belonging in sight.  He slips the stolen keycard back into his pocket.

“What a damn waste,” he mutters, disappointed.  He flips on the light switch, snorting when he sees the same complimentary bottle of whiskey sitting in the middle of the bed.  Either their tastes in liquor runs the same, or—

There are two glasses.  Riverboat rubs his temples.

With a sigh, he returns to the main living room to find the balcony doors already opened.

“Well, fuck,” he starts to say, but the last half of the curse comes out in a wheeze as a very well-placed boot kicks him square in the chest.  Riverboat stumbles back, falling right on his ass, but it’s enough time to draw out his revolver.  He sets his sights on the shadowed figure, aiming with ease.

His revolver gets shot out of his hand before he can even pull the trigger.  The soft _puff_ tells him someone had been smart enough to obtain a quiet weapon, though it also shows that whoever is holding the gun, they’re not interested in killing anyone.  He relaxes by a considerate amount.

“So _you’re_ my mystery man,” he says, smoothly rolling into a more comfortable position on the floor.  He props one elbow on the floor and rests one side of his cheek on his hand.

This seems to annoy the mystery man by a tremendous amount.  He looms over Riverboat and places one foot over his chest, pushing him onto his back once more.  While Riverboat doesn’t appreciate being knocked around, it does give him a good view of his attacker—which is to say, not much of a view.

“Seems like Lady Luck left you for another victim,” says Mystery Man, voice muffled from behind his cape. “Or I reckon she was never with you to start with, huh?  Figured you were always a cheat.”

Realization starts to trickle in.  Riverboat squints, but Mystery Man’s got a mask over his eyes as well.  The voice is familiar though, clipped angry cadence and all.  And the more he looks at the dark suit with the blue trimming, the more he recognizes the elegant, three-piece style.

“Ain’t I flirted with you before?” he asks, pitching his voice lower.  To his consternation, Riverboat can’t seem to place the man’s face, despite having played him in circles at the card table just hours ago.  Dark hair, dark eyes, and a scowl is all he remembers.  Nothing distinctive, but handsome enough, he assumes.  

The boot over his chest presses harder, forcing him back down.  Riverboat’s breathing becomes shallow and quick.

“Robbed, you mean," Mystery Man says, reaching into his pocket to flip a card between his fingers. He flicks it to the ground, clipping Riverboat's left cheek. "I counted _six_ ace of spades. Sloppy.  That omnic dealer your inside man?”

“ _Oh-ho_ , wouldn’t you like to know,” Riverboat says, bringing up his arm under his neck.  He glances at the card; sure enough, it's the very same ace of spades he had thrown over the rails. “You’re nothin’ but a sore loser, slick.  How did you manage to avoid arrest, anyhow? I spent a long evening getting that set up.”

Mystery Man laughs.  “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Riverboat tips his head back.  Now _there’s_ an interesting sound.  “I would indeed.  Perhaps over a glass of whiskey, since you were kind enough to have it set up.  I’ve got a proposition that might interest you.”

“Bold words for a man with his belly up and nowhere to run,” says Mystery Man, but his gun stops pointing at Riverboat to touch the muzzle against the brim of his own hat.   

“Lady Luck favors that sort of thing, you know.”

The boot eases off his chest. For the second time that night, Mystery Man laughs, and Riverboat is starting to like the sound a lot.

“Lucky for you,” Mystery Man says, extending his hand down, “so do I.”


End file.
